Sleepless
by Selvanic
Summary: Stein's madness is consuming him, and he's not sure he can stop it. Just a short drabble that occurred to me one night.


How long had it been? How many nights that he hadn't been able to sleep, that he'd spent wandering the halls of his own home, jumping at shadows that had, only days before, been all too familiar to him? How many things had he tried, how much advice had he taken to try and find a way to sleep once more? He'd lost count. The hours all seemed to blur into one another, overlapping and moving past him like one large, lethargic, serpent, brushing against his leg and through his home, taking with it whatever it wanted. He was powerless to stop it, powerless to change its movements. Just as he was powerless against _her_.

Medusa. A witch. He'd killed them before, had taken pride in his abilities, in the ease with which he'd destroyed the dangerous creatures. They'd never posed a threat against him, had never been able to sway him, to manipulate him. And yet _she_ could. Her words had managed to penetrate his mind, seep into his very soul like so much deadly venom. When had he let his guard down? When had he slipped? When had her fangs gotten through his defenses? Even with her death, he could hear her voice in his head, could feel her hands on his body as he slept, her breath on his face.

He was losing his mind. With every passing day, every passing moment, more and more of him slipped away, passed through his desperate hands like fine sand. He could _see_ it, was forced to watch his own descent into madness. The darkness closed in a little more every time he closed his eyes, swallowed up the light that he was trying so frantically to cling to. Even Marie's presence wasn't enough to stave it off, wasn't enough to beat the creeping shadows back. He wasn't going to win. And the thought terrified him. He'd known his sanity was frail, was already strung thinly, but he'd always thought he was stronger than this. He'd never thought he'd have been beaten so easily…

He sat at his desk, staring at the blank computer screen, listening to the near oppressive ticking of his wall mounted clock. His thoughts were scrambled, crawling all over each other like so many mindless insects, writhing away from him as he tried to pin one down. He was shivering, he could feel it, but he didn't know why. That always seemed to happen at this time, the buzz of the computer screen combined with the ongoing sound of the clock keeping time seeming to pound against his skull, causing him to curl into himself. His eye twitched, his gaze unblinking, blank, his fingers itching against one another where they rested against his knees. He felt like clawing at his own head, felt like he had to pull the bugs out and find what was left of his mind. He couldn't take it any longer. And yet, he knew it was all part of her game. He could _hear_ her laughing at him. And he refused to give her another victory over him, not tonight.

"Stein? Are you ok?"

Eyes turning frantically in the direction of the voice, he spun around in his desk chair, nearly jumping out of his skin. All he saw was blond hair and black clothing, all he could see was _her_, and he felt his breath hitch in his throat. Before he could lash out though, he realized that the feet weren't bare, the nails weren't painted, the voice was hesitant and worried. It wasn't her. He was overreacting.

Marie advanced tentatively, taking small, soft, steps towards the hunched form of the professor. Her voice chimed up again, timid and concerned. "Stein? You're not answering me…Why aren't you in bed?"

He lifted his head tiredly, looking at the woman in front of him with empty, pleading, eyes. He knew he looked like a mess, knew that there were dark circles under his eyes, that the light off the computer screen washed him out and made him nearly ghostly in his pallor. But he needed her to understand, needed _someone _to understand. Even if he couldn't find the words to express what he was feeling.

The young woman closed the distance between them quickly after Stein had looked up, wrapping her arms loosely around his tired form. She muttered soft words of comfort, of assurance, though he knew she didn't truly realize anything. She was just reacting to his appearance. She couldn't hear the laughter, couldn't hear the snide, mocking, remarks. No one could. He was alone, isolated, just as the voice kept telling him.

Medusa had been right; he was alone. He was beyond the comprehension of others. He understood things that no one else did. No one but _her._


End file.
